Do you remember love?
by Nessa Yavetil
Summary: She thought she could live without love, she thought she could be the perfect smiling doll forever. But the world she had so carefully built one night started to collapse into her hands; and he appeared to pick up the pieces. This is a little story about the side effects of a happy ending. Canon, ExT. For mature readers only.
1. The Voice

**Prologue: The Voice**

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"People's hearts are unpredictable."

_Eriol Hiiragizawa – Card Captor Sakura_

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I listen to you, and as your voice goes through me like light goes through a filthy, misted glass, I think about why it took me so long to come and find you.

It's an amazing kind of melancholy, the one you inflict in me with your singing, dear; and just for someone like me, who with so little effort can plunge into those dark depths your song sings about. What an amazing discovery, to have found you here, of all places, and to hear from your lips that old song that takes me back to things long gone, driving into my chest an inexplicable nostalgia. To hear you like this is a sweet torture; I look at you and I can't believe you're that little girl who used to sing sweet and innocent verses about dreams that came true. Although, deep down, even then -if one really paid attention, if one wasn't an idiot or a simpleton- it could already be seen; one could realize that it was already inside you, that seed of sadness in the bottom of your soul, that hint of hopelessness that let itself be glimpsed through the briefest moments, when in the middle of your childish song, you stopped for a second to take a breath and closed your eyes before you sang the next note.

It was obvious, so obvious, that at some point I couldn't understand how could everybody else not see it.

How sweet is your voice, Tomoyo dear, how rich, how full of shades, of emotions. Listening to you now, after such a long time of half-imagining it, of remembering it like in dreams, is like tasting a rare wine you left to age for years in an oak barrel, lost in the depths of some dark basement, and then forgot about for a while, or thought had forgotten; like some kind of expected surprise -if such thing could be-, the moment you realize that wine is still there, waiting for who knows what, and will no longer be exactly what you remember but something more complex, infinitely more… more what? More _something_, definitely much more _something_, but you can't know exactly what that "something" really is and your hand shakes a bit as you lift the barrel's lid and wonder about what amazing surprises you'll find when you finally dare to come closer and smell for the second time -but in reality it's the first time, because before it was something else; merely a hint, a glimpse of what it could be- that aroma that, for a moment, overwhelms your senses and freezes them in time.

Yes, listening to you now is like smelling that aroma and be delighted beforehand, imagining the tastes and textures it holds, and as I look at you I can almost feel all those flavors in my mouth, in my tongue, sweet but not excessively, with an exquisite complexity and a hint of bitterness at the end. Listening to you now is a bitter thing, dear, an exquisite and delicate but bitter sip and I drink with my ears that deep and profound sadness that eats you away from the inside.

I see you look among the people, the little people that comes to this god forsaken places to get drunk and listen to bands no one knows; I see you search for something, and my heart quivers a little when I realize what you're looking for. Really, Tomoyo? _Still?_ In your face, in your eyes that look but don't really expect to find, I see that you haven't invited her, that she doesn't know you'd sing here tonight, in this dive, but still, some small part of you doesn't want to give up on that childish dream and looks for her, even though you know damn well she wouldn't casually show up in a place like this, that she must be happily asleep, in another arms perhaps; completely oblivious (as she had always been) of what is really happening inside you.

But who am I to judge you, or to feel sorry for you. Isn't it the same foolish way in which I searched in Kaho, in England, for something lost so long ago? And where is all that now, Kaho, England, the days I dreamed that dream? So far away, so much in another world as it is from you that thing you look for among the filthy tables and the dark corners of this trashy bar that doesn't deserve to be the scenery for your song, as this dirty glass I hold in my hand doesn't deserve to be the container of that heavenly, exquisite wine I dream about when I listen to you.

You're getting close to the end, and you don't see me. Now, the dilemma; what to do with all this, and the possible scenarios start running quickly through my head.

I come to you and say _hi, how are you Daidouji, do you remember me, we were classmates in elementary school and there was also that business with the magic cards, oh, you remembered me, that's nice; you put a very good performance up there, what's up with your life._ You look at me and it's awkward, everything seems just weird, you don't understand what am I doing here and I can't explain it to you either, we exchange some polite words, perhaps some forced chitchat, _so you finished school, you're in college, that's great,_ then your band comes looking for you, to go drink something somewhere else, and you look at them, I notice some relief in your eyes but I don't say anything about it. You apologize, telling me again it was so nice to see me, and that you will call Sakura and Li tomorrow to let them know I'm in town, they will surely want to know; I give you my number knowing you will never call me, the next day I get on the first plane out of here, knowing I'll most likely never see you again, but I don't want to be here when that phone rings and instead of yours it's Sakura's cheerful voice what I hear, inviting me to hang out with her and Li. As much as I care about them, I don't want to be here when that happens.

I remain here, sitting, waiting to see if you notice my presence; you finish your song and get down of the stage, with that hopeless look of someone who once more hasn't found what she was looking for; perhaps you pass me by without seeing me, your band invites you to go drink something somewhere else and off you go with them, not looking quite thrilled about it but then again, you have nothing better to do; and I stay here sitting at this table, looking like someone that feels like an idiot. Frustrated, I get on the first plane out of here the next day. I never see you again.

Or perhaps you see me and you hesitate for a moment, you find me somewhat familiar but can't really place from where, then I smile at you and you seem to remember, you even blush a bit and you look so beautiful that way; you come closer, somewhat embarrassed, and clumsily ask me what am I doing here, I can't explain it to you and I start talking nonsense about some businesses in Japan and who knows what else; your embarrassment fades away, we exchange some polite words, perhaps some forced chitchat, and back to scenario one, etc.

I get up and leave before our eyes meet and I keep this moment as a beautiful memory for the rest of my life. How's that different from scenario two? Because here it's me the one who chooses to leave, to not meet you; it's me the one who chooses to keep this picture of you, this sweet sound in my ears as a memory, instead of that uncomfortable feeling of a wasted opportunity.

Clearly that's the only option worth taking, but for some reason the mere idea of walking away seems unbearable. My body seems to be stuck to the chair, I can't rip myself from here, I can't detach my ears from your melody. You've bewitched me with your voice, and I start thinking crazy things; that there may be another way to get closer to you, other possible scenarios, less vulgar and more subtle, perhaps one I couldn't think of yet. Or thought about briefly but discarded as unreasonable. As wrong. As ridiculous. As…

God, you look so pretty. I can't think like this. Your voice pierces through me, and I can't stop listening to it. I'm sorry, dear.

I might do something stupid.

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**_Author's notes:_**

_OK, so it has begun._

_Let me tell you a little bit about this story. It's already complete. It was originally written in spanish (my native language) and it has 11 chapters, which I will upload as soon as I finish translating them. You must know I'm pretty obsesive about the quality of my writing, and even now, I'm still not sure if I should start uploading it or keep improving and correcting it… It's far from perfect, but I decided to stop that; I'm not letting my neurosis win! And every bird has to fly sometime, whether they're ready or not._

_I can't explain how much I loved writing this story! It was roaming through my mind for a very long time, it refused to leave; so eventually it wore me down and I had to sit down and write it. It took me months to do it; to write, read, re-write, erase, change, undo, correct, build and unbuild scenes… but I enjoyed every second. All I hope is that you can feel when you read it at least a tiny part of what I enjoyed writing it. Any constructive criticism will be welcome, and I strongly encourage you to tell me if I make grammar mistakes or use words incorrectly; since english is not my native language, and I want to improve at it._

**_Let me remind you this is rated M for a reason. It's meant for mature readers and it contains explicit sexual themes. Anyone who doesn't feel comfortable with that, should stop reading now!_**


	2. The Illusion

**Chapter 2: The Illusion**

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"I'm happy if the person I love is happy... even if it's not with me."

_Tomoyo Daidouji - Card Captor Sakura_

.

This was definitively not right.

I knew it, I understood it rationally, morally, even physically. God, I knew it in my guts, I could feel it even in my nails; in those goose bumps that made my skin crawl, in the empty hole I felt on the pit of my stomach. Even in my hair ends I felt it was wrong, that I should stop right then and there; but the truth was -and this I knew as well with the same certainty- that I wouldn't, that I couldn't stop.

I needed this.

Or rather, no, this was not what I needed, what I needed was something else, something that was always, always, out of my reach. But this I could have, and how to deny that I wanted it, that my breath quickened to the very idea of having it, right there, so close, so easy… only a movement away, something as tiny as a finger's pressure; not even strength needed, not even strength.

_I'd do it._

What an awful thing, the way the heart beats just as fast in the best moments of life as in the worst, plain physiological reaction holding no sense, no meaning, yet so unavoidably there, present but telling us nothing except that something important is about to happen, not giving us any clue about the nature of the thing itself, be it good or bad, hell or paradise. Just blood pumping in every direction, to our legs, to our arms, and why do we need so much blood in our legs and arms in the most critical moments of our lives, I wondered that night; a stupid question indeed, but not stupider than any other I could have thought of in such circumstances.

Things seemed to be… critical apparently, if I was to give credit to the crazy pounding of my heart; but it was ridiculous, honestly ridiculous that it could beat like that for such a small, silly thing. It couldn't be that important, it would most certainly be nothing, tomorrow would be forgotten; however there it was the goddamned bastard, beating furiously in my chest like it was who-knows-what the thousand times repeated act of pulling that little memory card out of my camera, struggling like a crazed prisoner as my trembling fingers inserted the tiny thing into the right slot of the video machine. And then I had to pause for a moment, I had to stop in mid-action to take a breath and become aware that I was frightened like a gazelle which has just seen the lion; paralyzed, feeling the frenetic _thump thump thump_ and a cold sweat breaking through my forehead while my finger rested over the _play_ button, barely touching it.

_I can't do this. I shouldn't do this. This is wrong. I don't want to._

_Do I?_

That moment of doubt is fatal for the gazelle, everybody knows that; you just have to watch any National Geographic's documentary. The gazelle gets paralyzed, doubts, and the lion jumps.

And what happens next can be beautiful or horrifying, depending on whether you see it from the lion's or the gazelle's point of view. Life, death, the much needed nourishment, sharp teeth tearing soft flesh, pain and desperation, the imploring gaze that starts to fade out slowly, the taste of blood and the feast of the senses. And those two hearts beating exactly as strongly; life and death, pain and triumph, fear and excitement equalized by the whims of the cardiac muscle. It was ridiculous, honestly ridiculous.

Or a mere finger's pressure.

And there she was, before me, so beautiful, so perfect, huge as life itself. Her eyes were big, endless; shining with an emotion like I've never seen before; her breasts heaving uneasily under the fabric of that white sweater with pink flowers (I don't know why in a moment like that I stopped to look at the sweater, at its whiteness, at the shape of the pink little flowers, were they cherry blossoms? No, that couldn't be right, it would be just too much of a stupid redundancy, they must be just generic flowers for sure, how would she -of all people- wear a cherry blossom sweater? It would be a supreme vanity, like an attempt to reinforce her own name, to make herself more present if possible; no, she wouldn't do that; it must be me, lately I've been seeing cherry blossoms almost everywhere), moving with the barely agitated rhythm of her breathing, but on top of everything, her smile… that smile I only dared to imagine in dreams, that smile of lips that trembled like ripen strawberries about to fall from the branch, promising exquisite delights…

I wanted to stop looking at her, to gather the willpower I needed to press the tiny button and make her disappear, fade out like the vision she was; but I couldn't do it, like the gazelle can't get away once it falls into the lion's claws, not mattering how much it twitches and bucks. Hypnotized and terrified, with that red mouth smiling so close, so close, and so huge it took up everything else and consumed it and I was unable to move, almost to breathe; unable to pay attention to anything else.

"You're here. I've been waiting for you. My dad… already left."

That mouth moved and formed sounds that passed through me like a breeze, a meaningless mumble. I closed my eyes and tried to find their meaning, but there was no meaning in the dark, only noises and warm breath and a feeling of closeness, of physical proximity that was overwhelming. I opened my eyes again and I witnessed a clumsy and anxious embrace, an anarchy of arms and legs, of tremulous touches and kisses, of caresses that showed a poorly concealed intensity. I saw her falling to the bed in the middle of that passionate struggle, and I fell as well, crushing myself against the mattress as if my bones were solid iridium and weighted a ton. I was out of breath. I could hear the sound of sighs and kisses around me, and they were as primal and guttural as the lion's groans tearing the gazelle's throat, and I couldn't dare to look, to fully participate on that feast that horrified me as much as it excited me; I felt heat and blood thronging into my chest and cheeks and I knew I had to find the willpower to press the goddamned button and put an end to it before it was too late; this was death, it would be death, it couldn't end in anything other than death, a joyful death I yearned to embrace, a cliff I wanted to smash myself into, but…

To smash myself, alright; but if I had to do it I'll do it coherently, enough with this stupidity of closed eyes and victim shyness, enough with this fairytale of lions and gazelles; for this was something else, this was beautiful and pure, and if there was a beast lurking in the shadows that was me, only me, definitively me. A beast so mad and ravenous that was willing to throw itself into a cliff just to be able to sink its teeth a little, to taste the soft flesh with its tongue even for an instant, to savor a brief moment of futile and reckless glory. To smash myself, alright; but if I had to do it I'll do it right, not some shy and hesitant letting myself fall but a resolute jump; I'll threw myself into the cliff with everything I had and I'll experience the feeling of flying, if only for a second.

I opened my eyes, trembling, and my world was filled with her; with her eyes, her mouth, her flushed skin, and that unsettling feeling that had started to spread through my body.

And it was almost as if I could feel her; on top of me, underneath me, her breath coming out in gasps, my arms drawing her tightly to my body, her flushed skin against mine, my lips brushing her throat, her ear, whispering _mine_, saying it over and over again, like a prayer, _mine, mine, mine_, I could say nothing more with words, I just couldn't, she should never know, ever.

"I love you, Sakura."

I felt a bitter taste filling my mouth. Damn him. Damn that male voice that dared to say with such lightness those words that were denied to me. Damn his lips that pronounced them and his brown hair and his eyes, those fire-filled eyes that looked at her hiding nothing, showing it all and drinking the smile from her lips like it was his, with that goddamned innocence of the simple minded, of those who know nothing about other people's pain, or their own ability to cause it. Her image faded out, disappeared behind the intensity of his chocolate eyes, and I couldn't keep it. I wanted to hate them, to hate those eyes that had been my loss, those eyes that had taken the most precious thing away from me; but I couldn't, every single time I looked at them I crumbled, because there was love in them, and desire and tenderness and so, so many things that I had denied mine except from the distance; and I hated him for that, I hated him for daring to take the fruit that was forbidden to me, even if it had been myself -irony of life, if there was such thing- the one who had helped it happen, even if my own hands had been the ones delivering it to him on a silver plate. I deserved the punishment of watching him savor it; I deserved it for my foolishness.

Gulping hard, I forced myself to watch, trying to pull back the tears that started clouding my eyes almost immediately, the last defense my body could manage against the ominous, the inevitable. I wasn't going to allow it; I had no right to any defense, no matter how visceral or rudimentary it might be.

I looked at her eyes that shone like emeralds in the dim light; her gaze radiated warmth and I drank it as if it was the water I needed to survive. And then her lips moved again, and her voice came out, sweet and eager at the same time, and my heart quivered with a feeling I couldn't quite define, because it was a warm feeling… but also as hurtful as a stab to the chest.

"I love you too, Syaoran."

A salty drop slid through my cheek, and went to die over my bed sheets, before I could realize it was even happening.

Alright, but just one; one was the limit of the acceptable. After all, no one was forcing me to do this -I reasoned or tried to reason-, no one was ordering me to throw myself into the cliff like this; so, if I wanted so badly to break my skull against the rocks, I'd do it without a word of complain and putting on my best face. Like I did everything.

He smiled, with that warm and shy smile he so seldom showed and offered only to her, and held her closer. His hands stopped playing with her buttons, with the creases of her clothes for a moment, and ran through her hair, gently brushing away an auburn lock from her forehead. I saw his blushing, smiling face descend over hers and cover it with kisses, and I felt a furious urge to scream, to smash something, to give some outlet to the feelings that thronged within my chest.

It just wasn't fair.

I hated them both, I hated them for loving each other, for being happy, for touching and kissing each other and allowing themselves to do all those things that to me were like a luxury I just couldn't afford; something I could barely dare to dream, but never aspire seriously. But no, that wasn't true, I didn't hate them -although it would have been so much better to be able to hate them!-, I could never hate them because even if it felt as if my chest was filled with nails and rotten wood, deep down I knew things were supposed to be like this, they couldn't have been any other way; because he was the only one that made Sakura smile like that and I always wanted to see her smile like that; even if it wasn't for me, even if I was only an intruder in that strange, perverse _ménage à trois_ they didn't even know about. No, the one I really hated was myself; for being weak, unworthy; for wanting impossible things. For being unable to rip these feeling off my heart, and fulfill that promise I made to myself so many years ago.

He was still there, looking feverish, stroking locks of hair and planting small kisses on her forehead, on her blushing cheeks; moving down through her neck until he got to her cleavage, to the edge of the white sweater with pink flowers, where he stopped and looked up. My heart was pounding like a runaway horse when the disrespectful hands slid underneath the fabric, barely touching the forbidden skin, desecrating with impure fingers the trembling skin that was hidden from sight, protected until today as sanctuaries of innocence. I bit my lip, trying to calm down the rapid beating of my heart, and failing miserably.

"Oh!"

Or was it her the one who shuddered under those caresses? I saw her, her eyes half closed, her breathing heavy, and her sweater soon fell to the floor and turned into a mess; her usual expression of sweet childishness eclipsed under a new one, one I've never seen on her, of shyness mixed with expectation and desire. Blushing, she opened her emerald eyes and sighed, burying her fingers into the thick brown hair that plunged against her neck.

"Syaoran… I want to…. I want to…" she muttered, trembling, and I could see the fire rushing through her cheeks. "Let's... do it tonight… if you want. Do you?"

The look on his face was priceless; his eyes were like perfect plates, his very tense lips halfway between a smile and a horrified grimace.

"O-of course I want to, but… are you sure?"

She nodded, her eyes sparkling as she took his hand, that was buried into her hair, and with a sensuality beyond everything I've ever imagined possible, drew his fingers to her pretty mouth and kissed them one by one, barely sucking the tips while he watched perplexed, his eyes transfigured by surprise and desire.

"Yes. Yes." she whispered, looking more certain, even though the crimson hadn't left her cheeks. "We're alone tonight… and we've already waited too long."

He stared at her for a moment; and I watched him staring at her as the lump in my throat got so big and thick I could barely breath, and I felt a crazy pounding in my chest, and suddenly lips and arms entwined again with each other with renewed fervor, a cataclysm of limbs and kisses and sighs and I, overwhelmed, realized I couldn't hate them; I could never hate them, because Sakura shone in his arms like the most exotic jewel and they were beautiful together, they were a painting, like one of those works from Monet filled with imprecise lines and vibrant colors and so full of life they seem to move and breathe, and _fuck_, I couldn't stop looking at them even if the shame and nausea were turning my stomach.

I saw them kiss and cling to each other as if their lives depended on it, I saw buttons getting undone and skin and more skin and hands and mouths that opened and closed exhaling sighs and moans, and a brown head descending over small breasts and I couldn't help but to imagine how would it feel to kiss those rosebud nipples, to taste them with my mouth and my tongue and it was almost as if I could feel it, Sakura quivering in my arms, letting out soft moans that filled the air and it was like the sweetest honey melting in my ears, and the warmth spreading through my belly, through my legs, and Sakura's hands running up and down through my body…

I felt a weird touch, a caress that felt close and distant at the same time. I felt it on my skin, on my fingertips, so strange and unreal, so absurd, that for a moment I thought I was dreaming it. The feeling of warm and hesitant hands touching me seemed implausible, turbid, tainted with a vague feeling of guilt; however, I didn't want them to stop. I needed them, I needed the warmth they inflamed into my cold skin.

I closed my eyes, and a hand slid under my blouse and brushed against my breast; it was slightly bigger, fuller than hers, but in some way it was also her own, the breast the fingers touched was the same my lips kissed, his lips kissed; and the hand that moved down through Sakura's belly, barely grazing her skin was also mine, and moved down through my belly slowly, so slowly, and Sakura's breath was coming out in sharp gasps as the hand kept sliding down and suddenly I could touch her and feel her in the place where warmth and wetness met; and finally she moaned, the both of us moaned, loudly and without qualms, backs arching and heads burying in the pillows and it was too erotic to hear her, it was too much to hear her moan and to feel at the same time those fingers touching me, rubbing against me and all of it was hell and heaven merged together; her voice and her flushed skin and her eyes were mine, her pleasure was mine, finally it was mine, it hurt but it was mine, I felt it, I could feel it.

_Almost._

Suddenly, a moan that almost sounded like a shriek pulled me out of the trance I was in.

"Ahhh! S-syaoran!"

Of course; we were not alone. I had almost forgotten. His eyes, transfigured by desire were stuck on hers; his breathing heavy, his body so very tense while his hand between her legs continued its frantic movements.

"What?"

"Q-quit playing…" she whispered, words coming out with difficulty through her very swollen lips, her body shaking, small beads of sweat breaking through her flushed skin; she looked like a volcano about to explode, so beautiful it hurt to look at her. "I can't… I don't want to wait anymore."

For a moment he was paralyzed, the increasing tension of his body very noticeable but at the same time he looked insecure; like if he couldn't truly believe the implicit request in her words.

"We shouldn't hurry, Sakura…" he mumbled, and it looked like he was choking on his words. I understood him, I almost pitied him; I could wholeheartedly understand the struggle that had to be for him to be with her like this and not take her right then and there; to go slowly, to think about her virtue, her innocence and all those things a gentleman should keep in mind. I understood because I had to refrain myself so many times for her sake; to not hurt her, even when I felt a fire like an inferno burning me from the inside and… "We can keep this up, and then…"

"No." she said, running her hands down his body, caressing his chest and his belly and moving lower, and lower still; not stopping until she made him shut his eyes tightly and hiss and groan, almost like a grunt. "We'll have time to play later, all the time in the world. Now I want you, and you want me too; I know, I can feel it, Syaoran."

Her hand started to move, and all the discipline that body had trained by years and years of kung-fu went to hell in a second, and his hands grabbed her hips as if it was the last bastion in the world, his body crumbling on top of hers, rubbing against hers; their mouths seeking each other, and it was the moment they had both longed for, the moment they had dreamed about; and why was I there, intruding a moment like that? What right did I have?

I felt ashamed. _What right did I have, really?_

I closed my eyes and laid on the bed, turning my back to the giant screen. My fingers were still between my thighs, like trying to recover that precious moment when she and I had been one and shared the same body, the same pleasure…

Behind me I could hear sounds that pierced me; a muffled grunt (his), a spasmodic moan, almost a whimper (hers), and then for a moment, just silence, barely interrupted by the noise of both their ragged breathings… And then the words, the cruel words _-why were words always so cruel?-_ softly muttered that made me realize she was no longer mine, she would never be mine; that she belonged to him completely, in body and soul.

"Are you… ok?"

"Y-yes…" her voice was a faltering whisper. "D-don't worry… it hurts a little, but don't move… it'll be better soon."

"I'm s-sorry…" his voice was a shaky gasp, a mix between intense pleasure and intense guilt, and I could almost imagine the tense expression on his face, the discipline he had to inflict over himself to obey his mind and not his body, and remain still and unmoving as long as she needed to recover, to get used to it. Pure torture, but it was a sweet torture; what wouldn't I give to be able to suffer that torment, to bear those seconds of unbearable agony when your body overflows and you feel like you can't wait another second, but you have to, and you manage to wait; what wouldn't I give to feel her in that way I knew I'd never feel her, to make her part of me and become part of her, even if it hurt; even if you had to wait and you felt like dying. Al least he knew his wait would be over soon, and then he could allow himself to plunge into her to her very core; until their bones fused with each other, if possible. But me, instead…

"Silly… it's not your fault… W-we knew this would happen. I love you, Syaoran."

He kissed her, or maybe she kissed him; it didn't matter anyway, and suddenly everything sounded better, the sound of kissing made everything sweeter, their breathing sounded less ragged, less pained, and suddenly it didn't sound pained at all, but almost happy instead; and little by little new noises started to fill the air, to sound behind my back, and not only behind my back but everywhere _-damn surrounding sound, Dolby Digital and all of those sons of disgraced mothers-_, it was as if the sounds pierced me and ran through me and those "mmmmms" and "ahhhhhs" sprouted from my chest and came out from my own throat, trembling in the air for a second before they returned to them, or to me, who really cared. Someone had started to move -most likely her, I didn't think he would move a single hair before she told him to-, I could hear movements and I knew the tense moment had passed, and now the bliss came, or what I heard it was the bliss of sex, that collision of bodies I'd never get to know but I was sure, had to be the bliss; because how could it not be the bliss to be joined with her and to her and in her and through her and for her, and any other preposition that existed or could be invented, every one of them were the bliss if they were followed by_ her_, if there was always her.

I heard them sigh, moan, rub against each other, and despite the shame, despite the guilt, my body started coming back to life by its own will, reviving more and more with every passing moment; the fire gathering in my chest and in my loins and suddenly without thinking it, without deciding it, I felt fingers moving between my thighs, fingers caressing my breast; and Sakura's moans piercing through me and echoing in my ears, reverberating within me, and even though something inside me squirmed and rebelled, I chose to not listen to it; I deserved a relief, however small it might be, and I let myself go. I closed my eyes and abandoned myself to the touch, and it felt as if darkness was my friend; as if there was a ghost lover hidding in the dark, waiting only for me to close my eyes to touch me, to caress me, to breathe on my face and moan in my ear, just for me.

My head sank into something soft and I felt my ghost lover's hands _-warm hands-_ touching me shamelessly, squeezing my breasts and playing with my nipples, and getting to all the places where I needed them; my ghost lover's fingers _-warm fingers-_ rubbed between my thighs, played a moment with the fabric of my underwear and then finally buried themselves into the warmth and wetness that hid underneath. A sigh escaped from my lips, my body was shaking all over and it was nice, very nice, but not enough. I needed more, I didn't know exactly what but I needed it urgently as I felt the urgency grow in Sakura's moans; I needed to fill the void that started growing in my stomach and I didn't know how, but since I was in the dark with my ghost lover I was allowed to dream and to wish and to…

Fingers rubbed me from the inside, and I bit my lip to refrain from moaning aloud, to not conceal behind my own cries the symphony Sakura was giving me; I felt warmth spreading through me and yes, this was what I needed, this was it, _this…_

Almost.

It still –still!– wasn't enough. It was pleasurable, but not enough. Necessary, but not enough. What I really needed was something else, something –I didn't know what it was, but it was something a ghost lover just couldn't give me. It was something I wouldn't be able to see in the dark.

Specially -the idea came to me suddenly-, when there was no such thing as a ghost lover. Because there was no one in the dark, no one anywhere; not even Sakura was there for real.

The only real thing was a cold and lonely room, where a sad and pathetic girl commits a suicide, an innocencide, a friendshipcide, such a huge amount of _cides_ I couldn't even stop to count them, thanks to a conveniently forgotten camera, conveniently turned on, in the least convenient place in the world, the least convenient night of all nights. And she does it only because of… of… of what? Her own perverse voyeurism? To share even a tiny bit of her intimacy, to feel –even for a moment- that I have something of hers, that in some level some small part of her belongs to me? To dream with ghost lovers touching me in the dark? But it was ridiculous, honestly ridiculous. Who would ever want to touch me? Who would ever want me like this? Who could possibly want such a pathetic, disgusting thing?

_Who, really?_

I felt a giant lump forming in my throat. Fighting off the tears that were threatening to fall down my eyes, I opened them, forcing myself to come back to reality. For a moment, I've almost felt what Sakura felt; I've almost felt beautiful, we've almost been as one. What else could I ever hope for, if she had already found her lover, the person she loved most, and it wasn't me? For a moment, I've almost known what it was like to have love, to want and be wanted; all those things I secretly longed for but felt so alien to me, so distant and far away as a dodo would, or the lost land of Atlantis, something beautiful and wonderful but forever out of my reach; forever, nothing more than a fairytale.

_For a moment, almost._

The problem was precisely that "almost". That almost that ruined everything, that shattered the illusion and brought me back to reality, a reality where there was no love and no lover, and possibly not even a friend after this. A reality where there could only be two paths to go, each of them outrageous: in the best, most desirable one, I would collapse under guilt and shame and never be able to look at Sakura-chan's eyes again. In the other one instead, –the most atrocious, unspeakable one–, I'd behave just normally and act as if this never happened, as if I've never violated her most private intimacy and completely betrayed her trust; and the smile would freeze in my face forever, as cold as ice, and I'd wear it until the end of time, until I feel nothing anymore. And then I would have lost her, utterly and in the worst possible way; by turning myself into an empty shell, a person who lies just for the sake of lying, who thinks everything is allowable because nothing is important, a worthless, hollow thing that is not worthy of her love.

All of this crossed my mind in a fraction of a second, on the brink of the ecstasy my body craved and I understood now, I had to deny it. It was the last thing I could do, the last chance to stop, to show myself I still had some integrity and some respect for everything I've just disgraced. Disgusted, I removed my hand from between my legs; my body protested but I paid no attention to it. I got up, straightening my clothes; and finally did what I had to do, what I should have done ages ago.

_Stop._

The giant image disappeared. The lovemaking sounds dissolved into silence. I was all alone, in the darkness of my bedroom, and I knew there were no surprises hiding anywhere for me. No ghost lovers. No friends.

Nothing at all.

The cold, hard truth staring me in the face.

_How did I let this happen?_ This wasn't the first time I've filmed her and then went to bed watching her, feeling her, dreaming about having her next to me; but it had never, ever been like this before; I've never filmed her without her knowledge, never dared to break her trust like that. I didn't understand how an innocent childish game from when we were kids had turned so slowly, almost unnoticeably into this horrible, perverted thing; corrupting me and soiling my pure love for Sakura. Or maybe it had been like this from the very beginning? Did it ever exist, that pure, innocent Tomoyo I struggled to remember, or this atrocity from tonight was just the monstrous flower of a plant I've been watering and tending to very carefully for so, so many years? Because this unspeakable thing I've done to the person I loved the most, I've wanted to do it before, so many times, even if I never did it… What was the difference between feeling a vile desire and making it reality? Couldn't I at least let my body have its relief, knowing that my heart was already rotten?

I felt nausea growing in the pit of my stomach, and a feeling of fright started to overpower me.

_What have I become?_

My heart was beating painfully in my chest, tears filling my eyes, seeking to escape, but I wouldn't let them; I didn't feel I had the right to even cry. My hands clenched into tight fists; my entire body was shaking in the effort of controlling the sobs that struggled to get out of my chest, when suddenly, something changed inside me, I didn't know exactly what it was; but all of a sudden I wasn't sad anymore, not even sick or frightened, but furious, I didn't know against whom or what; if it was against myself for what I had done, against life itself for putting these feelings in me just to see them denied, against Sakura and Li for choosing each other, leaving me excluded and condemned to loneliness and frustration; or even my mother, for having me under her constant watch and surveillance and buying me cameras and giant TVs and so many other fancy things I didn't need to compensate me which had ruined my life and…

Suddenly, I jumped off the bed like possessed; and overpowered by a rage beyond measure, I seized a chair and smashed it against the giant screen that took up an entire wall of my bedroom. Crystals flew in all directions in a shower, making a terrible noise; and it was a glorious moment, almost magical. I savored it for an instant; then I took the video machine, removed the memory card from inside it, and squeezed it between my fingers until it broke; and I threw the pieces down the window along with the rest of the machine and my camera. No matter what I did from now on, I knew something for sure: I would never, ever watch that video again, or make any others.

I listened for footsteps in the hallway or knocks on my door; waited for worried calls from my mother or someone from her security personnel, but nothing happened. For once, I had to appreciate the benefits of living in such a huge mansion.

It's a strange kind of stillness, the one you feel after destroying things or getting rid of things; especially when they were things that for a long time held value to you. It feels as if you had just killed a part of yourself; a part that needed to die no doubt, even if dying hurts. It feels like a peace from death.

Exhausted, I laid down on my bed again, not caring about the chunks of glass that had fallen onto it; my eyes, sore after trying to hold back tears for such a long time, could finally loosen up, and I let my body to slowly relax and fall into the darkness once more; this time expecting nothing, just to sleep, to sleep and forget it all, to find an oasis of peace and rest from myself.

At least for a while.

* * *

**Author Notes:**

Cheers! I finally got to translate the second part, the first real chapter after that small prologue I introduced last time. Sorry it took me so long, I had to move out from my old house in the meantime to a new one, which made everything a mess and left me with little to no time to work on this. I hope I can get the next one translated sooner.

Yes, I realized this may have been somewhat dark and twisted and disturbing, but honestly, I've always felt that something like this was bound to happen at some point, when our beloved characters grew up and hormones and sexual desires started to kick in. It's easy to hold back your feelings when you're eleven or twelve years old, but when you're a fully grown teenager? What would become then of our sweet Tomoyo-chan, when she fully realizes the extent of her loneliness and frustration?

When I thought about that, this was the first thing that came up. But this has just begun, and there's more, so much more to come (some things perhaps even more disturbing than this, sorry). However, I've tried to write only things that could possibly happen without slipping out of "canon", and I've tried my best to keep the characters "in character" as much as possible, and keep an edge to the bitterness. This chapter might not be the best example of the last one, but try to understand me! I was listening to Radiohead while writing this.

One more thing; translating this was very hard, since I like so much to play with words and language expressions, sometimes even twist them into inventing new ones (like some words in this chapter, such as _friendshipcide_), so that made this a real pain in the ass to properly translate. I tried my best, but I'll accept any constructive criticism you can give me if you find I've messed up too badly with the words or grammar.

Thanks for reading, and if you liked this, or at least didn't hate it, I hope to see you in next chapter! Not to spoil anything, but it's completely possible for our confused singer/designer/filmmaker girl to have a significant reencounter soon enough... ¬¬


	3. The Dream

**Chapter 2: The Dream**

* * *

"There is no coincidence in this world, there is only the inevitable."

_Kaho Mizuki - Card Captor Sakura_

.

I think it had started a long time ago, that lonely, senseless wandering; but somehow I seemed to forget it every single time. Once again, I was alone, lost in that endless darkness; once again moving forward, blindly, like a sleepwalker or a ghost; seeing but without eyes, walking but without setting foot on anything, sweeping along into a deep silence, a silence as that of death.

Far away, in a distance that in that moment seemed inconceivable, were my city, my house, my bedroom, my body. There were also other houses, other bedrooms and other bodies, each with their own breathings, their own stories and sorrows, but none of that mattered now; they all seemed like fake things, as if they were just images from a dream or an illusion; all of that had been left behind. The truth was I was alone for all eternity, forever wandering in that corridor out of time, enclosed by dark walls and intangible floor; no fear, no sadness, not feeling anything at all. On both my sides, the walls displayed a bizarre collection of masks, each one of them unique and different from the others; my only companions in that desolate immensity, but I passed by them completely indifferent, not even looking at them. I couldn't say why were they there or what did they look like; although once in a while, for the briefest moment a few of them could get my attention, if they were specially beautiful or grotesque; but my interest lasted almost nothing, less than a heartbeat, and then I turned forwards again, to that dark and endless horizon where I was destined to wander forever. And for a lapse of time that could have lasted a minute or a thousand years, I lost myself into that spectral darkness; I ceased to exist, I ceased being myself, I became a ghost.

Almost imperceptibly –I could never say how or when did it happened-, at some point in that endless roaming, a weak sound started to break the sepulchral silence and reached my ears. It was a voice; it seemed to be singing a song that sounded like a lamentation, and came from further into the corridor; and I was startled when I realized it was talking to me. The voice called me, pulling me out of my dreaminess, waking me up from my trance. With some effort, like a newborn that still can't control her body well, I tried to focus my gaze, to sharpen my ears, to follow my senses; trying to discover where was it coming from that incredibly sad calling that pierced through my head.

I searched relentlessly for the voice's source, for a lapse of time that seemed to last centuries, eons; with a growing anxiety that was eating me up from the inside. My endless, meaningless wandering had found a goal, a purpose; and that filled me with all kinds of strange feelings, fears and expectations.

Eventually, I found it. The voice seemed to come from one of the masks. I barely needed to look at it to know it was the one calling me, to know it was the reason I was there, to know it was what I've been looking for my entire life. It was the most beautiful and perfect thing I've ever seen; it looked like the face of an angel or a fairy sculpted in the most delicate white porcelain, with just a soft brush of color on its lips and cheeks, and it moved, it sang as if it was alive, as if it was a heavenly creature descended from some magical realm only to speak to me. Entranced by its stony beauty, I reached for it; but the moment my fingers touched its cold surface the mask opened its eyes, and I couldn't refrain the horrified scream that came out of my mouth. They were the most frightening eyes I've seen in my entire life; they seemed carved on incandescent amethysts and when they fixed on mine I could see they irradiated an unbearable glow bursting with sadness, horror and above all, an unprecedented fury. Scared, I tried to get away; but then the look in those eyes changed, they suddenly became kind, sweet and gentle. The mask stared at me hypnotically and continued to sing, so very softly, as if it was invoking me; and I knew I couldn't leave it there, it existed only for me and I'd have to carry it with me forever.

I grabbed it, releasing it from the wall and bringing it closer to me; my heart trembling with fear but also some strange emotion as I tried to understand what was it saying to me. Suddenly, I had a hunch, like some kind of very lucid premonition, that there was only one way to understand its strange language; and without thinking much about what I was doing, as in a trance, I turned it around and pressed it against my face. I felt its cold surface touching my skin; a shudder ran through my body and in sheer horror I realized the mask was clinging to me, merging with my flesh and the gemstones embedding into my eyes. Overwhelmed by devastating feelings of anguish and powerlessness, I fell to my knees and tried to take it off, but it was impossible; it had become part of me and would continue to be so forever. I wanted to open my eyes, but they were blinded and hurt; I wanted to scream, but no sound came out of my throat, and in the greatest terror I suddenly felt as if a hand caressed my cheek through the mask, as if lips were kissing me softly, with exquisite tenderness, through the mask lips; and I could no longer understand anything anymore; only feel the warm, bloody tears falling from the sockets of my smashed eyes and sliding down my white, cold, porcelain skin.

…

I woke up with a start, my body covered in sweat and a scream stifled in my throat. It took me a while to realize I was in my bedroom, in my bed; everything seemed off, unreal; everything lacked solidity. I felt exhausted, as if I'd just came back from a very long journey. I sat on the bed and ran my fingers through my face; it was hot and wet, like feverish. I still felt the tingling of a kiss on my lips, and I softly brushed them with my trembling fingers, like trying to make sure they were real, that they were my lips and not the porcelain lips of a mask. What was this feeling, this inexplicable tingling…? It was already fading away, but for a moment it had felt real, too real to be just the aftertaste of a stupid dream…

_Perhaps…_

It was completely absurd, but somehow it felt as if I could sense someone's presence, so very close, someone who had just broke into my dream and… _Don't be ridiculous, Tomoyo. As if you could tell if someone was here unless you see them or hear them. You don't have that kind of power._

Yet nevertheless, I thought I could smell a faint scent in the air, a scent that didn't belong to me, a fresh scent that reminded me of…

_Woods... Trees... Cherry trees?_

I shuddered. I could have sworn that, for a second before waking up, I'd felt the tingling of a breathing on my face. With my eyes wide open, I looked around the darkness of my bedroom, searching for any sign, any movement, anything that could indicate the presence of… _of what?_

Deep down, I knew it was just a fantasy, a dream; that something like that was impossible. It couldn't happen to me, not in a million years, it couldn't be that…

"Sa… Sakura?"

As it was to be expected, there was no answer. Rubbing my eyes, not really able to see much in that darkness, I reached out and turned on the lamp on my night stand. Of course, there was no one there besides me; nothing out of the usual. Nothing. I was all alone.

I sighed.

Well, it was no surprise. It had been obviously just a dream, something that could only happen in my mind, never in real life. Didn't I already know that? Yet still, I couldn't help but feel the bitterness, the tears threatening to fall from my eyes. The only kiss I've ever had in my entire life was through a mask in a nightmare, and the only thing more pathetic than that was to wake up and find myself alone, like always, in that cold darkness; bursting with impossible desires, with unfulfilled longings that could never, ever, see the sunlight. How was this better than the dream? Here there was no beautiful mask calling me, no beautiful _anything_ calling me, here there was no waking up… I started to feel the desperation from the dream again. My chest tightened into a painful knot. I wanted to cry.

I turned the lamp off and let myself fall back into the pillows. A tear slid down my cheek. More than anything, I wanted to go back to sleep; but the horror of the nightmare refused to leave my chest, just as the goddamned feeling of a kiss refused to entirely fade from my lips. It was impossible to sleep in these conditions. Impossible to think. Impossible to do anything.

Suddenly I felt cold, and I realized the window was half open, and a cool breeze was coming from the outside, making the white curtains wave softly. Moonlight was entering from there too, bathing the whole room in a dim, silver light, making it look somewhat phantasmagoric. It kind of… accentuated my loneliness, but it was beautiful. I felt tempted to get up and walk to it, slowly; to lean over the night and inhale the cold and darkness of the sleeping world beneath it, and, at least for a moment, forget about everything and let myself be carried away by its silent beauty.

…

Some minutes later, I was walking fast down the street, almost running. I was in a long overcoat, I didn't know where I was going, I didn't even know why did I have get out in the middle of the night, without telling anyone. All I felt was my heart beating fast, and a feeling that I couldn't stand my bedroom anymore, I couldn't stand the gloomy thoughts and feelings that were crawling within me, seeking their chance to escape. I had to go somewhere, to do something, to be surrounded by people, by sound. By light.

It was a very cold night, but that wasn't a bad thing. I greeted the cold air as it hit my face, my hair; it was so cutting that it almost hurt, but I liked it; it made me feel alive, it awakened me from my lethargy. And the night was so beautiful. Its almost sinister desolation didn't scare me; quite the contrary, it was as if it covered me with a protecting cloak, inviting me and comforting me with its frozen caress. Maybe that was what had made me leave the safety of my bedroom to climb down my window like a mad person and go wander crazily into the night; the feeling that, in the middle of such vastness, something could be calling for me, that something could, even in the form of a clumsy metaphor, resemble me and understand me and shelter me. At least a little.

But whatever it was, I still hadn't find it.

At least, the cool air did me some good. It freshened my head up, making me aware of all kinds of meaningless things, like the way I should look right then, with my eyes all red and irritated from all the restrained crying, and the distressed way my pale face should look, with the make-up I'd worn just hours ago all smudged, my hair made into such a mess, and that long, black coat that did what it could to keep me warm but couldn't stop the breeze from slipping through my excessively lightweight clothes and giving me goosebumps. I should look like some kind of vampire or hellish creature that had just taken human form; I was sure I would scare the crap out of anyone who had the bad luck to run into me. The idea gave me some kind of perverse amusement.

And that was almost my true self, not more illusory than the kind, sweet Tomoyo everyone knew and… loved? _Yes_, I thought bitterly, _they loved her_, though I wasn't so sure that meant they loved _me_. Anyway, it didn't matter. The only person that mattered didn't know this part of me, didn't know my true feelings, couldn't even imagine the things I was capable of, nor could ever picture me wandering the streets in the middle of the night looking like the undead, just to escape from the intensity of the pain and self-loathing my feelings for her caused me, because they were anything but pure, they hadn't been pure for years and I was too weak to face them or fight for them or forget them.

Such a pathetic thing I was.

But now I didn't want to think about that anymore. I didn't want to think about anything. I just wanted to find a place where the noise was so loud it would stun my brain, and my senses would be filled with people, with their looks and their laughs and their smell… I could do with some alcohol as well. It would be nice to numb my head and forget about everything, to stop thinking about cherry trees and corridors and masks, at least for a while…

Without thinking about it, my feet took me to that place, that little dive where I had sung a few hours earlier. It was half hidden into a dark, not much travelled alley, and didn't look very decent nor clean, but after a while of aimlessly wandering into the freezing night, in an orgy of self-loathing, any place would do. Besides, I liked the music I heard from the outside; it sounded somewhat harsh, somewhat melancholic, somewhat… stubbornly bitter. It fitted my feelings so well. I thought it could melt my brain, and that was exactly what I wanted.

Smoke, noise and odors of all kinds flooded my senses as soon as I got inside, startling me a little. Apparently it was one of those places where the air became fuggier and fuggier as the night progressed. Not without some apprehension, I walked into the place, and looked around for a table. Then, in the darkest corner, I found one that seemed appealing to me; it was hidden enough for me to have a quiet time watching people without being watched, and adapt little by little to the place, to the strong smell of smoke and perspiration, to the music that pierced my ears. I sat down, and after asking the barmaid for some random drink, I started feeling more comfortable and I devoted myself to a languid, almost morbid contemplation of my surroundings and my neighbors. The place had something strange, like some kind of presence that welcomed me, even though I couldn't figure out what it was exactly. There wasn't a lot of people; a small, unknown band was playing furiously and some of them were watching the show, although most of them, immersed in their glasses and their conversations, just plainly ignored it, as they did with mine. It didn't matter to me back then, I hadn't sung for any of them; and truth be told I didn't even know who had I sung for, or why. I just felt the need to do it, urgent, unavoidable; as if something had awakened inside me, taking me under its control and the only way calm it down was to get on that stage and unleash my voice like I hadn't dare to do for so, so many years. My voice, that had become something I feared, something that dragged me to depths I didn't want to know about; that betrayed me and brought to light things that shouldn't be exposed, ever. That for some moments seemed as if no longer belonged to me.

The place looked exactly what it seemed from the outside; a little dive with a dark, suffocating atmosphere, not too clean. However, I was starting to like it. No one knew me there, no one expected anything from me, no one gave a damn about who I was or what I did; I could be whatever I wanted in there. It was a place to collapse, to forget everything, to disappear. Around me, my neighbors looked all almost exactly the same, strange, taciturn, lost into the music and their own thoughts. I tried to guess how many broken hearts would be behind those inscrutable eyes; how many letdowns and disappointments being drowned in those glasses of liquor; and I felt a strange respect for them, for their loneliness, for their silence; they could never bother me. They were my equals, my brothers.

_Just bodies._

"Your drink, miss."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the waitress's white hand with long red nails leaving a tiny glass filled with an amber liquid on my table, along with a salt shaker and a slice of lemon on a little plate. Well, I had no idea of what to do with all that stuff. Bewildered, I looked at all the things and then I raised my eyes to her, and the look in my face must have gave my amateurishness away me out because she smiled, amused.

"First-timer?"

"Yeah." I answered, somewhat embarrassed, trying to make it look as if it wasn't a big deal. "If you could explain…"

The waitress quickly explained to me what I should do with that strange drink. I was supposed to lick the salt off my own hand, then do the shot, then bite the lemon. The whole procedure seemed hilarious to me for some reason; but it was new, it was exciting, and I decided to try it.

But when I took the first sip it felt like fire running down my throat and burning my stomach, and I choked, and started to cough furiously; which made the waitress come back to me real quick.

"Are you okay, miss?"

"Y-yeah…" I managed out, still half choked; trying to hide my embarrassment. It was a pissing to be such a greenhorn. "What was the name of this thing, again?"

"Tequila."

Ooh. Tequila. Yeah. Whatever.

It wasn't a common drink in Japan, and I asked for it only because I liked the way its name sounded. It had a certain musical quality that made me think about a demon's name. Te-Ki-Lah.

"Okay" I said, trying to keep at least some of my dignity. "Could you bring me the bottle, please?"

The waitress looked horrified by my request, but didn't say a thing and a minute later was back with the bottle. Then, with a glance between worried and amused, she warned me to be moderate with my drinking if this was the first time I had tequila. I didn't pay attention; showing her my kindest grin I assured her I was okay and that she had nothing to worry about, and she left. I didn't want to make a big deal out of it, but as I poured the liquor again into the half-empty glass, I felt a little horrified myself; as if I was going to commit murder. Or suicide. But at the same time, in some different level, it was exciting; like crossing a thin line that separated my world in two: the one where everybody knew me, where I was the same old, sweet, kind Tomoyo I've always been; and this new one, the one I was discovering just now, where I was something very different, something I still couldn't figure out, something that scared me but pushed and pushed within me, stronger every time, making me able to cope with anything, even this awful tequila.

At least, it was something new.

The amber liquid stared back at me from the glass with apprehension, like a silent witness of my awkwardness; and I suddenly felt the urge to make it disappear. It was like molten lava burning down my throat; a very unpleasant feeling, but at that point that didn't matter anymore. What mattered was it was strong, and it burned, and that was all I needed right then.

Gathering my courage, I put the salt and lemon aside –such unnecessary ceremonies for my goal-, and took a second gulp, emptying the small glass in a second. I felt the fire in my stomach again, this time even stronger than the last one, so much I had to struggle to not throw up right there and then. Barely giving my stomach enough time to adjust to the feeling, I quickly filled up the glass again, and emptied it with the same haste. And then again. And then, something unexpected happened: it started to burn less. I started to feel like my arms and legs were heavy, really heavy; and a warm tingling started to spread through my body, numbing it.

It felt weird. Funny. My head weighted more than the rest of my body, and I started to feel dizzy, but at the same time I realized I could think with more clarity than ever. As if there's been a veil covering my thoughts and feelings, letting me see them only blurrily, and it had suddenly been removed. With my new lucidity, I realized it was a beginners attitude to drink it all so fast, that it would only make me feel sick really quickly, and then I'd miss the opportunity to enjoy this strange dizziness and this hilarity that were starting to overwhelm me. A bit surprised but also pleased by my new experience; I decided to wait a while before drinking again, to give my body some time to assimilate the new, to let the heaviness and numbness gradually increase, and the burning in my stomach fade away little by little... It felt wonderful. And weird. Only with an effort I could remember who I was, and what was I doing in that place, but besides that, I was thinking with more clearly and lucidly than in my entire life. It was really weird, as if everything beyond the limits of my mind, my body included, was moving at a different speed, a slower speed. Everything seemed to be at an odd angle. I felt the urge to laugh. It was so funny! I tried to remember what had brought me here, but the whole thing about Sakura and Li's video just seemed grotesque. I tried to summon back the feelings I felt before, the longing, the guilt, the despair; but they seemed to have gone somewhere. As if I was another person, watching the whole situation from outside. And now that I thought about it, it couldn't feel anything but funny, even ridiculous; I couldn't understand why it had disturbed me so much. It was wonderful. Nothing hurt. Nothing mattered. My eyes were closed, I felt really good; I could have stayed like that forever.

I couldn't.

"Excuse me..." unexpectedly, abruptly, the sound of a voice next to me brought me back, making me remember there was a world beyond the confines of my own mind. "I don't mean to bother you, but, don't you think is a little dangerous, that thing you're doing?"

A voice. _Shit_. Whoever it was, no doubt it was an idiot if he couldn't see I wanted to be left alone. Why did they have to bother me just now, when I'd finally seemed to find a little haven of rest, a nice limbo to lose myself and catch a break from the world and myself?

"What?" I said unpleasantly, not even turning or opening my eyes, as if to make clear that I wasn't going to get into any kind of conversation.

"To swing yourself in the chair like that, after drinking so much. You could lose your balance and easily break your neck."

"I won't." I mumbled, starting to feel irritated. My haven of rest was quickly drifting away with each word that sounded next to me. I frowned when I felt -rather than hear- someone's weight accommodating on the chair next to mine, and leaning over the table. So he planned to stay. _Fuck._ Some arrogant idiot trying to hook up with me was really the least thing I needed tonight.

"Are your sure? Don't you think you might be leaning backwards a little too much?"

"Huh?"

I opened my eyes abruptly, just to see the table moving away fast and a feeling of free falling and vertigo overwhelming me. At least for a moment, until a hand stopped it, and brought the chair back to its right place.

"Shit!" I muttered, clutching at the table only to knock the bottle down and spill its contents all over. I picked it up, but then I had to put my elbows over the wet table and lean my forehead on my hands. I was more dizzy than I thought, and the almost fall had only made it worst.

"Remarkable." the voice at my side said. "I never thought I'd have the chance to hear Tomoyo Daidouji swear."

_What_?

Oh, no. Was it someone I knew? I looked up, I had to open and close my eyes several times until the image got into focus and I could see the the face that...

_No. No. No._ It couldn't be. It was just impossible. But I was sure, even through the fog that alcohol had left in my mind: those features were familiar. Very familiar. It was impossible to forget that affable, almost childish face, crossed by that cordial grin that seemed to hide a certain slyness, a certain malice that couldn't exactly be seen yet I perceived... _But no, it couldn't be!_

"Hi…hiraa…gizawa?" I mumbled, unable to believe my own eyes.

"Daidouji." A smirk was painted all over his face. "How nice of you to finally recognize me."

I blinked, perplexed. And the again. And again. If he didn't fade away soon, if he didn't disappear before me, I would have to accept that he was not some crazy hallucination from my inebriated mind, that he was really there, sitting by my side, and that, that would be a total disaster.

I blinked a fourth time.

He was still there.

"Why... why don't you disappear?" I stammered, trying to make sense. "You're not here! You're in England!"

He laughed out loud.

"It's comforting to see one is being missed. I'm glad to see you again too, Daidouji."

"B-but, when...? how...? when did you arrive? How did you find me here?"

"I'm sorry to disagree, but it was you the one who found me here, Daidouji. I was sitting at that table over there long before you got here."

I blinked again. So he had been watching me the entire time. I felt uncomfortable, upset, as if he had somehow violated my privacy; but then I realized how ironic it was, that me of all people would feel offended by something as insignificant as this.

"So you were spying on me."

"Is that how you see it?" he chuckled. "I'd rather call it an astonished contemplation of a scene that you can't see everyday. Imagine, to find here of all places an old schoolmate, and not any schoolmate but the one who used to be the gentlest, politest and more well-behaved girl I ever met... Alone in this dive, drinking one shot after another like an inveterate drunkard... That's something I could hardly move my eyes away from, don't you think? Forgive me; the last thing I wanted was to disturb you, but my curiosity was too strong, Daidouji, and I had to come and ask you about it... No judging intended; just pure scientific interest, I promise."

"I'm sorry, Hiiragizawa, but I think you'll be dissapointed. My life has no scientific interest. Nor any other kind of interest whatsoever."

"Really?" he said, his eyes growing wide. "Is that why you used to tape other people's?"

The smile vanished from my face immediately. Of course, it wasn't really his fault. It had been a malicious question, undoubtedly; but he couldn't know to what extent. Or could he? It was hard to figure it out with this guy. There was always a strange aura surrounding him, something disturbing; as if he could read other people's minds, as if he could, at some level, see through others in a way no one could see through him. And he generously abused that power.

I didn't like it. I didn't like it one bit. I already had too much trouble with myself, to deal with someone else's weirdness, with someone else's malevolence. And of course, I had no need to listen to insidious comments from someone who had always been less than a friend.

"What do you want, Hiirazigawa?" I said, bluntly. He seemed to be taken aback; but recovered quickly, and offered me one of his best apologetic grins, all sign of slyness erased from his face.

"Nothing." he said. "Just a bit of conversation, really. After seven years of not setting a foot on Japan, I'd like to chat for a while with a familiar face. Please excuse me if I've offended you, Daidouji, I didn't mean to. I guess I have a special talent to say the most inappropriate things, and sometimes it gets out of control."

_No, that's not right. Fake,_ a voice inside me repeated. I looked at him with suspicion; the more he apologized, the more he seemed to be making fun of me. I had no doubt; he wasn't the kind of person to innocently let words out, oblivious to the effect they could have on others. He was too smart, God, he was too _old_ for that! You had to be stupid to not see it. However, there was also something strange in that simulation of courtesy. You could guess the mockery behind the kind grin and the sorrowful eyes; you could even guess a certain hidden sarcasm, but even if you tried, you wouldn't be able to find any coldness in it. It was a rare kind of malice the one he had; one that seemed to lack the subtle trace of disdain it normally has, a disdain I knew damn well, because so many times I'd felt it about myself, and sometimes even about others. He, on the other hand, could seem ironic and sarcastic, even cruel; but in no way seemed to despise anyone or anything. On the contrary, it was as if he transmited a rare kind of warmth, even when he was mocking you. It was weird enough to intrigue me.

I couldn't decide if I was rather mad at him or not.

"What do you want?" I insisted, in a softer tone this time; but still refusing to let him gain ground.

He grinned again, this time with a more sincere grin; then he took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, and lighted one.

"Honestly?" he asked, breathing into the silvery cloud of smoke he had just created. "Well, that's a very hard question to answer, indeed. I'm not so sure if I'd dare to ask it myself."

And then he remained silent, his gaze lost in some point of space. I felt weirdly awkward with the whole situation, with that silence, though I couldn't have said why.

"So, you smoke? I never pictured you as a smoker." I said, just to say something. His eyes descended again, lethargically, over me; and a new grin formed in his lips.

"That's just natural. I was a twelve year old the last time we saw each other; it wouldn't have been a pretty picture. Although, I'm not really a smoker. And now that you mention it, I never pictured you as a drinker."

"I'm not." I said, realizing the conversation was starting to get ridiculous at a fast rate. "It's strange. Usually, people who don't smoke don't carry cigarettes and lighter in their pockets."

"Well, I carry them because sometimes they're appealing to me, like now for example, and as you may imagine, I'm not worried about dying of lung cancer... Let me add as well that I usually don't get to run into girls who don't drink at dives like this, with a bottle of tequila in their hands."

"Are you making fun of me, Hiiragizawa?" I said, starting to get irritated by the absurdity of the whole thing. "I'm shocked; you're not the gentleman you pretended to be."

"Well, Daidouji..." he retorted, showing me that big Cheshire Cat grin that had always been his trademark. "Apparently you're not the woods fairy I remembered either. But I'm not making fun of you, I promise. I would never make fun of a girl who can drink five tequila shots one after another and not pass out immediately. Actually, I'm starting to develop a strange kind of admiration."

"Don't idolize me much." I said, smiling against my will. "My body feels heavier with each passing second, and that can't be good. And my tongue is getting more and more tied... I'm guessing in a short while I'll have a hard time speaking at all."

"And here I was, expecting an interesting chat... Well, what you gonna do. Anyhow, let me help you with this," he said, grabbing the bottle and putting it out of my reach, "because if you keep drinking it I'll have to carry you home, and I'd really prefer not to, Daidouji. Vomit won't go well with my shirt."

"Don't be rude." I protested, a bit offended. "I'm not a child; if I want to drink, I'll drink. And you don't have to take me home, so stop worrying about it. I'll go back on my own. I'm not your responsibilty."

"Okay... if you insist to keep yourself on the track to alcoholism... at least let me invite you something better. You need to drink something more decent than this cheap tequila, really. Something you can enjoy now, because, and believe me in this one, dear, in a short while you're not going to enjoy it."

He called the waitress, whispered something to her and she took the bottle of tequila away. Then he put out the cigarette in the ashtray, pensively, and for the short time this lasted, I couldn't help but look at him and notice, not without a certain flustering, that he was, how to put it... _pleasant_ to look at. He had grown a lot, of course; he was no longer that boy I met in elementary school but a tall, broad-shouldered young man. The white skin of his neck made a wonderful contrast with the ebony hair that ended at his nape, and with the deep blue of his shirt. Impeccably dressed and shaved, he was the perfect stereotype of the english gentleman; but even so, there was something in the way he looked that didn't seem to fit, not completely; something that never seemed to fall into place, something that belonged to other times, more primal times; a trace of dark strength and arcane magic that let me, if only for a moment, picture him with long, wild hair, in a fur cape, and his face covered with tribal paintings. Something that seemed so like himself and so unlike him at the same time... His hands, with long and refined fingers and polished, neat nails, were however big and masculine; and they moved when he spoke with a mind of their own and a hint of almost childish stubbornness, and I liked them for some reason I couldn't quite define. Like his appearance, all of his body language was elegant and tidy; his entire self seemed to be always composed and under control, except for those hands, and his eyes...

He had changed, indeed; but his gray eyes still had that mysterious quality they always had, that for moments made him look old and tired, like the millennial being he really was, but they changed in a matter of seconds to become the mischievous and playful eyes of boy; inspiring at the same time tenderness and apprehension. How did he manage to make that transformation, so quick and so easily, was something that I could never figure out, but intrigued me.

Whether I liked it or not, I had to admit that Eriol Hiiragizawa was an interesting person, and that his presence didn't bother me as much as I thought it would. Besides, as long as he stayed sitting with me, no other guy would try to get close; and that was a nice bonus.

Things weren't really that bad. Undoubtedly, they could have been much worse.

The waitress returned with the bottle he had ordered and two glasses. He gestured her to leave them on the table, and thoroughly proceeded to fill them up, offering me one of them once he was finished.

"Well, this is much, much better. Try it. I think you'll like it."

Not without some hesitation, I accepted the glass he offered me; looking with suspicion the dark red liquid it contained. I tasted it, expecting to receive another aggressive punch to the stomach; but to my surprise and delight it was the exact opposite of that. It was incredibly mild, sweet, with a fruity aroma and a hint of alcohol that spread through my body like a soft warmth, wihout numbing it.

"So?" he looked at me, expectantly; he seemed like a child waiting for his teacher's approval to a well done homework.

"Delicious." I had to admit. He smiled with satisfaction.

"I told you. A glass of good wine is always nice, and makes everything more pleasant, especially awkward reunions. Let's toast to that."

I couldn't help but smile against my own will. I hesitated for a moment, and, finally possessed by a "what the hell" kind of feeling, I clinked my glass against his. Suddenly I felt light-hearted again, cheerful, almost hilarious. The effects of alcohol, no doubt.

"Okay, since you're already here, tell me what are you doing in Japan. When did you come back, for how long...?"

"I came back today... I don't know for how long yet. Things were getting boring in England, and since I had some pending business here... But what about you, Daidouji? What are you doing here?"

"Huh?"

"You know I don't mean Japan."

He stared at me, his face suddenly serious. I hesitated. I didn't like where the conversation was going, and I had no desire to explain myself to him. I struggled with myself, my head still feverish by the effect of the alcohol as I tried to find an answer that was blunt and short enough to discourage further questioning but wasn't excesively rude either. But then, my eyes met his; and to my surprise, my uneasiness started to fade away, I didn't know why. Maybe it was because I couldn't find any sign of malice in his eyes; quite the contrary, there was something warm, inviting, as if he was truly interested in what I could say. Something in those eyes had a strange effect on me, and words started to come out before I could even think about what I was doing.

"I really don't know... I'd never come here before today. It was as if I've been dragged here by a feeling. I just walked and my feet took me to this place. You can laugh if you want, I know it doesn't make any sense."

"As you can see, I'm not laughing, Daidouji. Quite the contrary, I find it very interesting. Please, continue."

"No, really..." I giggled at the ridiculous idea that was beginning to form in my head. "There's nothing else to say."

"If you don't want to tell me, I won't insist; but seriously Daidouji, do you believe in coincidences? Is it normal for you to be in a place like this? Don't you think it's weird that in my first night in Japan after seven years I've come here and find you? You know... I think maybe we were meant to meet today. Maybe I even came all the way back from England just to hear what you have to say right now."

"Pfffft. Cut the crap, Hiiragizawa." I said, laughing, even though his words had deeply shocked me. Because that was exactly the idea that had formed in my mind just seconds ago; that this whole situation was way too unlikely to be a mere coincidence, that perhaps it was a destined thing to have found him here, in this place of all places, in this night of all nights. But, to what end? What could be the meaning of this? And who decided these things? It was absolutely ridiculous. If there was a mysterious destiny that revealed itself through signs, as a rule that always happened to important people, such as Sakura. Never to an ordinary girl like me.

_However..._

"It was because of a dream." I found myself saying, once again surprised by the ease with I was revealing such personal things to a person who was barely more than a stranger. Undoubtedly, the alcohol was to blame again.

"A dream? That's really interesting. Dreams tell us lots of things about ourselves. What was it about?"

"What do you care? Are you going to go all freudian on me now?"

"Far be it from me to try to analyze you, dear. But I happened to have some oracle abilities in some of my past lives; so dreams have always been an interesting matter to me... And you know what they say about old habits."

"Is it true that you can remember all your past lives?"

"Unfortunately, yes." He muttered, thoughtfully; his face frowning in a grimace that could have been of discomfort or sadness. "But let's not talk about that now. You were going to tell me about your dream, don't think I have forgotten."

"No, I wasn't."

"Yes, you were. If you didn't mean to tell me, you wouldn't have started talking about it in the first place. You would have told me some lie; for example that you were here waiting for someone, which would have been also a neat way to let me know I should get up and leave. Now is too late for that; if you got this far, there's no point in backing down now, is it?"

He grinned, triumphantly, and for a moment I deeply regretted to not have thought about the date excuse from the beginning. My usual self would have come up with some masterful strategy to avoid any conversation topic she wasn't comfortable with; but apparently my usual self seemed to be on vacation tonight. I blamed alcohol again for that.

I looked at him, unsure; something revolved inside me at the very idea of sharing such intimate things with someone else. It wasn't my style and the very possibility made me uncomfortable, but at the same time a strange feeling was starting to overcome me, a completely opposed feeling: the need to tell everything, to let it all out, to share with someone at least a tiny part of the ghosts that haunted me, to reveal at least a tiny part of my true self. To talk without lying, at least for a while.

It couldn't be any worse than all the other stuff I'd already done that night.

The temptation was too strong, and I yielded to it. Even knowing that I would regret it later, I suddenly found myself talking about endless corridors and porcelain masks; about phantom kisses and bitter awakenings. Everything, from the second I fell asleep till the moment we met. I was talking like in a trance; not hurrying but not stopping either, as if somehow I knew that the second I finished speaking that strange door that had opened would close again, maybe forever; and I wanted to savor the moment, that negligible moment of opening up, of closeness with someone else. He listened, grave and attentive and never breaking eye contact with me; and the situation was so absurd, so surreal that it was as if a part of me had separated from the rest and was watching everything from the outside with fascinated eyes. There I was, Tomoyo, sharing a little part of my soul with that almost-stranger from my childhood; but in that _"there I was"_ I stopped being there, I escaped, I lost it; the moment was slipping from my hands, the feeling of closeness quickly fading away, until the only thing left was a feeling of shameful frankness unnecessarily squandered, of an inebriated Tomoyo unnecessarily exposed.

I stopped talking and looked down, playing with my glass of wine. I waited for him to say something, to fill the embarrasing silence with kind words, but they never came. I felt very uncomfortable and self-conscious, almost as if I was naked; and _who on Earth had told me to show that much, to reveal that much?_ Shyly, with apprehension, I mumbled some forced words; trying to hide my uneasiness as much as possible.

"So... what do you think?"

"About the dream? Or about you?"

I raised my eyes, and saw him staring at me pensively.

"About the dream." I rapidly said. I didn't know why, but I wasn't so sure I wanted to hear the answer to the other question.

"Really? I'm warning you, perhaps you won't like what I have to say. Are you sure you want to know?"

"If you got this far, there's no point in backing down now, is it?" I stared at him, defiant. The vulnerable Tomoyo was starting to pull herself together. He smiled.

"Alright, but first, I want to ask you something. What would Sakura think of this dream?"

"Eh?" the sound of the beloved name put me instantly on alert. "What does she have to do with all this?"

"Why are you getting mad? It was just a question."

"Well..." I tried to conceal how upset I was, realizing it could be even more revealing than anything else I've said. "I don't know what Sakura would think. I guess I wouldn't tell her about this dream."

"Why?"

"Because. Why would I tell her? There's no need to make her worry with such nonsense."

"Why do you think she'd worry? And why would that be such a bad thing? Isn't she your friend anymore?"

"Look, I don't know where you want to go with all this, but yes, she's my friend, and that's why I don't want her to worry. Is that so hard to understand?"

"No, it's not hard. What puzzles me is precisely that; it seems too easy. In the dream you wore a mask. Tell me, what are the purpose of masks, Daidouji?"

His words felt like a slap in the face. I was stunned and speechless, and I immediately regretted I ever mentioned that stupid dream.

"Forget it, Hiiragizawa, it was just a dream, okay? And I don't see how it can be related to Sakura. The end."

"Alright, but hear me still, if only for a moment. I've asked you all these things because your dream reminded me of a fairytale I heard once. It was about a princess who was in love, but she had a problem; she wanted someone she knew she could never, ever have. The more she wanted this person, the more she was convinced of the impossibility of her desire, but since she was a strong and proud princess, she didn't want the entire kingdom to see her suffer. One day, a witch appeared and offered her a deal: there was a way in which no one would see her suffer anymore and she could be joined forever to the person she loved; but in exchange she had to give the witch her mouth, her ears and her soul, keeping only her eyes. The young princess was so desperate that she accepted, thinking that it was worth it to end up horribly mutilated if she had the slightest hope to be with the one she loved. And so the witch gave her a mask, and told her to put it on. The princess obeyed and when she looked at the mirror she saw she had the face of the person she loved; identical in every way except for the eyes. And then she understood she had become that person, and that she was condemned to hear with ears that weren't hers, to speak with words that didn't belong to her and to smile with someone else's smile; to act forever like some other person, but seeing the world through her own eyes. The witch had kept her promise: no one would ever see her suffer, because the mask hid her, and she would never be apart from the one she loved, because she was carrying that person in herself, forever. But in exchange for that, the princess had lost herself. What do you think about this story?"

"I think that, to be a fairytale, is awful. You've just made that up, haven't you?" I said, my voice faltering between anger and dread.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes, it matters. It matters a lot. If you say yes, then I'd have to ask you what on Earth did you mean with all that, and if by any chance are you so pretentious as to believe you understood me so damn well to know what my dream really means; and who the hell do you think you are to judge me like that." I muttered, shaking with a rage that, for the first time in my life, I was having trouble to control. "I'd have to demand you to explain to me what the hell did you want to imply before when you mentioned Sakura, and what connection does she have with that ridiculous story you just told me. I'd be really mad... Hiiragizawa."

"Well, I didn't make it up, Daidouji. Don't get all exalted. I just remembered that story because you mentioned a mask, that's all. And I didn't say there was any connection between Sakura and my little story either. That was entirely you; and it was the most honest thing you have said in the entire night. That, and showing me your anger, obviously. You used to be more careful with that kind of thing before."

_"What?"_

"Don't worry. I think I like you better like this, anyway." he added, looking at me with a warm, affable grin.

I got up of the table almost in a jump, so indignant I couldn't even speak, and completely decided to leave; but the abruptness of the movement made me dizzy, and suddenly my stomach and the whole bar were spinning around me. I leaned over the table, trying to keep my balance, and knocking the glass of wine to the floor in the attempt.

But then I felt arms holding me up, keeping me from falling; and a moment later I was leaning against the chest I'd wanted to stab just a second earlier. I heard a worried voice above my head.

"Are you okay?"

"Let go of me." I said almost in a whisper, weakly trying to release myself from those arms. "Of course I'm not okay."

He made me sit on the chair again, and leaned into me.

"All that cheap tequila had to make affect at some point. I'll take you outside. You need fresh air."

"I don't need your help... Hiiragizawa." I mumbled. I felt as if all the life and color had faded from my face.

"Look at me." he said, as he held me by the shoulders vehemently. I tried to, but when I looked up I felt even dizzier, and my stomach started to turn even more. "Wait here for a moment. Don't move."

I felt him get away, and I closed my eyes, trying to make the world stop spinning around me. A few seconds passed -which seemed an eternity in my stunned head-, when I heard his voice again by my side.

"Okay, let's go. Put your coat on. It's cold outside."

As he spoke, I felt him grabbing my arm and helping me get up and put the coat on, and then passing one of my arms over his shoulder, and his around my waist; and I let myself be carried away, stumbling, towards the exit of that cave of smoke, odors and noise. Everything was spinning around me. I closed my eyes to not get even sicker.

Finally, we were outside. The cold air that greeted us helped a little with the nausea, but the dizziness just wouldn't go away. I slowly dared to open my eyes; the sky was still dark, but the streetlights were hurting my pupils, and I had to close them again. My legs could barely support me. I felt weak, completely worn and helpless, but at least the fresh air did me some good. I breathed in, as my body shuddered at the touch of the freezing breeze.

"Better?" a voice whispered next to my ear. Suddenly I realized that his arms were still around me, supporting almost the entire weight of my body, since my legs were like paper and I couldn't stand by myself. I was literally clinging to his shoulder and my head was falling over his chest like a dead weight; and realizing this made me feel extremely uncomfortable. In a feverish frenzy, I wanted to let go of him, to move away; my legs and my sense of balance failed me and I stumbled, but I didn't fall because his arms continued to hold me, keeping me on my feet.

"Hey... don't do that." he said. "If you fall now you'll hurt yourself. Relax, you'll feel better soon. It's just the effect of that horrible tequila you drank like crazy."

"Shut... up." I muttered. He just laughed. I felt the vibration in his chest, and I unconsciously leaned my head against it. It radiated pulse, warmth, it was comforting, it was...

_Weird weird weird weird weird weird weird,_ said the voice inside my head over and over again. Yeah, perhaps it was too weird, too absurd, to end that night like this; drunk, at the front door of that dump, resting my head against the chest of the seven-years-missing Eriol Hiiragizawa... I felt a weird feeling of vertigo, of unreality in the back of my stomach; I remembered how the night had begun _-centuries ago, it seemed!-_ and suddenly the nausea came back in full strength.

"Oh God, let me go!"

It was all I could say before pushing him away violently. He said something, startled; but I couldn't get what it was because at that same moment I was already bending over against the wall, throwing up as if I wanted to get everything that had happened that night out of my body.

...

"That was beautiful. Just... beautiful."

"Thanks. I don't think I can feel more humiliated than I feel now."

He laughed.

"Oh, sure you can. Just wait until you're sober again and you'll see. But promise me to remember it, or it won't be as funny to tease you about it."

A faint smile formed in my lips. I noticed my head was resting against his shoulder, and his arm around me, and I sighed. And I thought _that_ was weird? _This_ was weird, to an extent I couldn't have even imagined a few minutes ago. Somehow I was sitting in the backseat of a cab, completely leaning against and old schoolmate's body, who incidentally happened to be the reincarnation of one of the most powerful wizards of all time, and who I haven't known about for years until a little more than an hour ago. But the weirdest thing about it, the thing that startled me the most wasn't that. It was how comfortable I was starting to feel, despite the all the weirdness.

"Why are we on a cab?" I murmured, lethargically, struggling to keep my eyes open, but they felt heavier and heavier with every passing moment. I hated to admit it, but the feeling of being close to a warm body, embraced and protected from the outside cold; a body that carried me around, got me into the cab and decided everything for me, was oddly comforting. I felt light and carefree, like a baby; it would have been so easy to fall asleep... But I didn't want to, because I knew that when I woke up this would be over, and I didn't want this feeling to fade away. From what seemed like a distant fog, I felt one of his hands barely grazing my hair, brushing away some locks from my face; I noticed his arm around my shoulders, and the way his breathing tickled against my forehead... And none of that bothered me, actually, it was quite the opposite; I realized I was starting to like the soft touch of his fingers on my hair, and the vibrations his body transmitted to mine every time he spoke, every time he laughed... It was utterly weird, but I didn't want it to end. I wondered lazily what would he think if he knew what was going through my mind. No, better not start walking down that road. Besides, it didn't really matter. I was drunk, and drunk people thought stupid things.

"Because you're a crazy girl who drank five tequila shots in two minutes, and now can't walk by herself. And because I'm gentleman, so I can't leave you on the street in such state." he said, grinning faintly.

"But... where are we going?"

"Home." he simply said.

"Wait..." at this point I was having real trouble thinking coherently, but not as much to not realize the obvious. "I can't go home like this. I still live with my mom, and..."

I stopped there. I didn't want to tell him that I had climbed down my window to get out; and therefore, that I couldn't go back through the front door. And climbing up my window again in that state was clearly out of the question.

"I know you can't. I kind of figured that out. When I said home, I meant mine."

"Yours?" I was stunned, perplexed; I couldn't decide whether I should be alarmed or not. This was definitely too much; however, I couldn't think of any other place to go until my drunkenness wore out. He seemed to notice my uneasiness.

"Yeah, but only if you promise not to take advantage of me." he said, laughing; but I knew he had felt the sudden tension in my body. "I know I'm unbelievably attractive, but you'll have to control yourself. I'm tired, I'm not in the mood for kinky stuff."

"Huh... alright. I'll try to hold myself back."

I felt his laughter against my body, and I shuddered slightly. It had been decided, and suddenly I realized this would be the most reprehensible of all the things I'd done that night. And honestly, I couldn't care less. I didn't have the strength nor the will to fight it, to go back to the overly conscientious and scrupulous Tomoyo I'd been my entire life. I just wanted to let myself fall, to let go of everything, to get completely lost...

Besides, I couldn't go home in that state. And to make things worse... it felt good to be there, dozing against Eriol Hiiragizawa's pretentious chest. At least it was warm, and I wasn't alone.

At least for a while...


End file.
